“I don’t like her,” Irene said.
“Are you jealous of her?” he asked. “You have no reason to be. I intend to be faithful to you.”
“I know,” she said confidently. She believed him, yet her gaze followed the path Olivia had gone.
Still feeling troubled, he said, “You have nothing to fear where she or any woman is concerned. No one compares to your combination of beauty and character.”
Her head whipped back to him. “Don’t.” Her eyes were hard. “Don’t lie.”
“Lie?”
“About my…” She swallowed and then looked away. “Compliments aren’t necessary. I don’t need them. I’ve never needed them. I know you are a man of honor. It is honor and valor that prompted you to wed me.”
“Was it?” he asked. “I thought it was my undying love for you.”
She grinned. “And that.” She turned fully to him, her hands still on his arms. “But please, no more compliments.”
He placed his free hand on time of hers. “Irene, you’re my wife. You’ll have to get used—”
“Clive, please, I don’t like them,” she said. “I never need or want them, not from you.”
That didn’t sit well with him. Had he never told her she was beautiful before a moment ago? He thought he had. It had taken some time for him to see himself though, how all her unique features created one intriguing woman.
Just because she was different didn’t make her ugly. She was not plain either, far from it. She was striking. He thought her beautiful no matter what the world thought.
He wanted to tell her that, but her eyes warned him against it, and he didn’t wish to fight.
Not now.
Not at the party, but eventually, he would have his say.
She must have seen his intentions, because she said, “My father always told me men would find other reasons to value me. He was right. He hired tutors to made sure I was a refined woman of grace and that I had enough money to tempt any man into marriage.”
“I married you for neither for your grace nor your money.”
“I know, but… you like Olivia. I look nothing like her.”
He almost told her that half the women he bedded looked nothing like the other. “I no longer want Olivia.”
“Well, just so you’re aware, she doesn’t want you either,” Irene said. “She only wanted you because I wanted you.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Clive said slowly. He wasn’t sure they should be having this conversation at all, but a part of him felt slighted by her words. “Olivia and I spoke of marriage before I kissed you.”
“Clive, I was her friend for years,” Irene said. “She’s covetous. She always has been.”
He hadn’t known the women had been friends. Olivia had never said so. In fact, she’d led Clive to believe that she didn’t know Irene very well at all. She’d spoke of Irene as though she were just another face in the crowd.
He hadn’t known Olivia to be covetous… until that hairpin.
“When did the friendship end?” he asked.
She shrugged. “A little after I noticed you two together at Vauxhall Garden. She said I was jealous and should be happy for her. I told her to never speak to me again. Our friends divided amongst us. Most of them came with me.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all.”
She lifted a brow. “It doesn’t? It surprised me. Olivia is gorgeous. There was never a point in time when she looked any other way.”
He frowned. “How long were you two friends?”
“For years.” She tightened her hold on him. “So, trust me when I say she can’t be trusted. She has always wanted what I have. I will not let her have you. Not again.”
Clive felt as though he hovered just out of the reaches of reality as he went through everything Irene had said. She’d been attracted to him first. Olivia begins flirting with him, leading him to believe he had a chance at her hand. Olivia had convinced him to steal Irene’s hairpin, a hairpin everyone but Irene knew to be hideous.
Then he’d kissed Irene.
It made sense when he thought of Olivia’s comment at the teahouse weeks ago. She’d claimed to have seen him and Irene leave court together.
Now he was Irene’s husband and Olivia had approached him for a second time in six years.
“I think you’re right,” Clive said. His pride was a little bruised. “However, I’m glad everything has gone the way it has.” He took Irene’s hands and kissed them. He knew people would see it and take it as a sign they were a love match. He wanted them to believe that for Irene’s sake. She deserved to be happy. “I am right where I belong.”
Irene’s eyes were glittering with the tears she held there. “You are. You’re mine.”
“For the remainder of the night, we shall dance every set together.”
Her eyes widened. “Every set? Together? We can’t. We are expected to take other partners, even after marriage.”
He used her hands to pull her close. “You’ll learn something about us Lost Lords. Society may have their rules, but none of us care.” He bent in her ear. “You’ll learn.” He kissed her cheek before he pulled her toward the center of the room. Their eyes remained connected, but Clive felt Irene deeper still.
∫ ∫ ∫
2 8
* * *
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Clive’s voice pulled Irene back from the edge of sleep.
They’d just finished making love. Their coupling had been very spirited. Irene’s bones and muscles ached in the most wonderful way. Even her mind was lethargic, which left her little energy to try and understand the meaning of Clive’s question. “What?” She wanted him to turn the lamp out but was too tired to ask.
He wasn’t far. His breath was against the back of her ear. His arm went around her. “If you loved me before Olivia approached me, why am I just learning this tonight? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
She gathered the pillowed underneath her and buried her cheek farther into its softness, holding it tight. “I didn’t love you then. I’d only liked you, fancied you more than other men. My mistake was to mention it to Olivia. Once you two were together… I knew I didn’t have a chance.”
She thought before she asked, “Do you think it would have made a difference if I told you?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed, tightening his arm around her. “So much has happened since then.”
“Why are you asking me these questions?”
He paused and then said, “We must speak about what we were discussing earlier at the party.”
She stiffened and understood why the lamp still burned. “I don’t want to.”
He rolled her to face him. His hands were on each of her shoulders, keeping her back to the mattress. “Why do you think all those artists painted you?”
“Because I’m odd looking,” she said. “I’ve the personality to match.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She looked away. “Stop it.”
“Irene—”
“Stop, I said!” She fought him, and he released her. She sat up and glared at him. He was the beautiful one. On his knees in nothing but smallclothes, his chest and thighs bare to her eyes, he was the most gorgeous being she’d ever seen. It made little sense that he loved her and that he was in her bed. “I don’t want to speak about it.” She didn’t want him lying to her, not even about this.
He frowned. “Irene…”
“Clive, if you say it again, I’ll never trust another word that leaves your lips.”
His brows shot up. He closed his mouth. “Have you any idea how much you arouse me? I look at you, and I want you. Have you any idea what that means?”
“You looked at Olivia and wanted her.”
He groaned. “Irene, Olivia is not here in this bed.”
“Only because she wouldn’t marry you.” She held his eyes. “I know she rejected you because you were poor. She would never have actually married you.”
His jaw clenched. “And that pleases you, doesn’t it? That no one wanted me? The scandal of the hairpin only ruined me further.”
She shook her head. “Nothing good will come of this conversation. Let it go.”
“I can’t.” He stood and began to pull breeches over his smallclothes. Frustration had his movements jerking.
Panic seized her. “Where are you going?”
He stopped and looked up at her. He was still angry, but his words were calm. “I’m not leaving. I’m just going to have a look outside.”
She watched him put on his shirt and pulled the sheets over her shoulders. “You’ve hired watchmen. You’ve two footmen in the hall. You sleep on the side by the windows. No one is coming for me.” The assailant hadn’t visited since the wedding, but it had only been two nights since she’d last seen him. It was too soon to expect him again.
And she hoped to never see him again. Coming that close to death, true death, had shaken her. He’d been about to kill her, she knew. He hadn’t wished to help the children. All he’d cared for was getting rid of Mr. Crow and getting the book.
After their wedding night, Irene had told Clive everything about the Book of Affairs. He’d known about it, so in the end, she’d had no new information to give him.
She knew he wasn’t sleeping at night. She’d woken last evening and found his eyes open. She’d voiced her concerns, but he’d kissed her and then there had been no talking at all.
He slept during the early hours instead and joined her around mid-day. They’d usually go to Marley’s from there. The men would discuss how to move forward with finding Crow and making sure the constable didn’t find the book first.
The book. One would think it the Holy Grail with the way everyone was acting.
“Come to bed,” she said. “Go to sleep. Everything is fine.”
“I’ll be quick,” he promised as he slipped on his final boot. “Describe the assailant again?”
“Tall. Blue eyes. I don’t know much else.”
“Then it will have to be enough.”
“But you get so tired after you go out. You sleep all morning. I don’t see you until after noon. I don’t like eating breakfast alone.” She sat downstairs all on her own. She thought she would be used to that, but she wasn’t.
He stopped at the door and turned to her. Then he was across the room and got in her face. His fist pressed into the mattress. “Don’t eat breakfast alone. Have a tray brought up and eat it in bed.”
“But you’re sleeping. I wouldn’t want to disturb you.” She also didn’t wish him to know just how vulnerable she felt whenever he wasn’t around. She’d been perfectly fine on her own, yet now that she had him, she’d have been content to simply burrow in his side and stay there.
She’d been told that men needed space, but at the same time, she didn’t.
He kissed her nose and a thrill went through her. “Don’t eat breakfast alone.”
She released a shrill noise. Excitement made it impossible to hold back. He always gave her exactly what she wanted most.
He grin was slightly haughty, as though he were perfectly aware of how happy she was and took pride in being the one to do it.
But he would not get back in bed.
She wrapped her fingers in his hair. “You know, I’ve been told that after coupling, we’re both supposed to be too tired to walk.” He began to laugh so she was forced to speak louder to be heard over him. “Perhaps, I am doing something wrong.”
“You do everything right.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and then dropped his nose to her throat, inhaled, and then kissed her there before lifting his head again. “The coupling is so wonderful, it is in fact the only reason I go out and make sure no harm comes to you. I have to keep you alive in order for you to pleasure me.”
Irene smiled. When he said such lovely things, when he looked at her, she almost thought herself pretty. That was enough. She never thought herself the sort of woman who could lure any man to do anything. He shouldn’t love her. He should be rejecting her, but he didn’t. She didn’t need to be called beautiful. He was attracted to her. She could accept that. It was enough.
“Stay. Sleep,” she urged.
He kissed her into compliant silence. “No more eating breakfast alone.” His eyes waited for her to comply.
She nodded, deciding to be an obedient wife.
“Good.” He kissed her and then left.
∫ ∫ ∫
2 9
* * *
Alone in the room, Irene stiffened when panic began to fill her. It was as though fear were a living thing that waited in the corners of the room and attacked her the moment Clive disappeared. She’d begun to jump at every sound unless she was in deep sleep, even during daylight hours.
She didn’t have night terrors, but during the day, she caught herself thinking about the bad man who’d come at night.
For the last few nights, she’d thought about her father. Had he still been alive, the bad man never would have come for her.
She recalled an instance where a gentleman had approached her father on the street. The gentleman hadn’t even introduced himself to her. He’d been too angry, glaring down at her father who’d been using his Bath wheelchair that day. Fury had burned in the stranger’s eyes as he’d delivered venomous words that had shocked Irene. She’d been certain the man had wanted her father dead. She’d been afraid that day. Her father had been so weak. He’d been weak that whole week, using the Bath wheelchair more often than usual.
If the stranger had decided to attack, her father could have been severely hurt before the footman had managed to step in.
She’d never forget what her father had said after the man had been given the liberty of dressing him down on a public street.
“Tell your wife I said hello.”
That was all and immediately, the anger in the gentleman’s face had turned to fear. Irene had never witnessed anything like it before. One minute, the man had spoken words that should never be said in front of a lady and in the next, he was begging her father’s forgiveness, even dropping to a knee to do it.
She’d always assumed the man had sensed her father’s weakness and kindness and it had humbled him.
She’d found out the name of that man at the party a few hours ago. After recognizing him, she’d asked her friends who he was.
Lord Alfred Remus.
And when Irene had asked her friends about his wife, their words had surprised her.
His wife had died eight years ago, a year before her father had said for Lord Alfred to tell her hello.
How odd... unless something was going on and Irene only had parts of the puzzle.
Before Garrick had asked her to dance— he’d done a little jig to communicate his request that made her laugh— she’d caught Lord Alfred’s eye and he’d quickly turned away.
Did he fear her or her father? Or more so, did he fear the book?
She wished she knew where it was.
Sometimes, when she was alone, she thought about the way her dead father had been found. He’d been at the orphanage. She had to move past her anger at what her father had done to those children to focus on the memory itself.
Mrs. Jenest said he’d been laying over his desk as though resting. Irene had left him there at the orphanage and had gone with friends to one of the gardens. There was nothing she could have done to save him had she been present, but after he’d died, she’d felt guilty about leaving his side.
Now all she felt was disgust. Why had he done this to her? Why had he tainted every good memory she had of him?
Clive’s hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her mind. “Where did your thoughts take you?” He was watching her with concern.
“I was thinking about my father.”
“Do you miss him?”
“No.” She closed her eyes. “I wish he’d been the man I thought him to be. Is there any hope he was good?” When she opened her eyes, Clive looked pained.
> “What do you know?” she asked. “You once said he wasn’t a good man. What were you speaking about?”
He sat on the bed. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve more than enough evidence to know he was guilty.”
“Did he hurt you, Clive?” she said. “Did he do something to you?” Had he done something terrible to Lord Alfred?
* * *
Clive didn’t want to talk about what her father had done to him, because one question would lead to another and eventually, she would ask about her brother. But it was only a matter of time before she found out anyway. Just how long could Lady Nora, Garrick’s wife, keep the secret that it had been Irene’s brother who’d kidnapped her last year and held her against her will with a blade to her throat?
Someone would speak. It would get out, but Clive didn’t want it out until he understood how it could complicate his life and their happiness.
“Yes,” he said. “Your father did something to me.” He wouldn’t lie to her. From here on out, he couldn’t. He was having a hard time convincing her that she was beautiful. He could not give her reasons to doubt him when he tried again.
And he would. No wife of his would think poorly of herself.
He’d love the truth into her body if he had to.
His eyes moved down to her belly, and he wondered if he’d loved anything else into her. He wanted to be a father and, as he’d told Lady Olivia, he hoped their children looked like Irene.
“But I won’t tell you what,” he said when she opened her mouth to ask. “I can’t.”
“You must.” She leaned toward him. “Please, I need to know.”
“One day. I promise I will tell you everything one day.” He’d even tell her about the hairpin. He would wait for the best moment. Maybe five years from now, when they had children and he was positive she’d not leave him.
“It must have been terrible,” she whispered.
He started to remove his boots. “If you ever want to talk about how you feel, even about him, know I’m here.”
“Really? I was almost certain you never wanted me to say his name again.”
Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book) Page 14
